Overwhelmed by the response to my 3000th poem, from all of you,...

Overwhelmed by the response to my 3000th poem, from all of you, all of the kindness, all of the amazing things you said, all of the pleas not to stop.  I always knew I had an amazing community behind me, but I think things get so lost in the shuffle on social media these days, it’s hard to Know.  Thank you, All of you, for your response.  As I said, the Typewriter Series isn’t going anywhere, it may slow down from time to time, it may not come exactly on schedule, it may not be daily, and it also might be daily sometimes, but it’ll still be here.  I have so many more words inside me, and they belong to all of you.  What I AM going to try, is going back to the idea of posting the seed lines, or gut punches that began each poem for me when I’m sharing longer pieces first, and then allowing those with the time to swipe over to see the full poem, and allowing those who don’t have the time or interest and are happy with the one line or stanza to keep cruising on.  In addition, I’m going to be trying something else on for size.  I am going to try to write more short poetry, more punches to the gut without all the dancing around the ring, try to show the world that short poetry doesn’t have to be all cliche and bullshit, it can be moving, powerful, and resonant, in a small space.  I am excited for the challenge.  I hope you’ll be around for it.  At any rate, here is Typewriter Series #3001 by me, Tyler Knott Gregson.  Swipe right if you wanna read the whole damn thing.  I love you all.

There are lies we tell ourselves,
tall tales that keep us alone,
that chain us to the less
we live convinced
is all we deserve.  
Tell them enough and they feel
so much like truth,
they ring out when we say them,
we smile with mouths
but our eyes betray them.  

It’s too late, we say enough
the words lose shape, too old,
too afraid.  Bathed we become
in every single reason
to stay.  Lies, these,
but some layers cannot be peeled
away.  

Overdue, this, but some things,
despite their tardiness, seem
to have always been.  We lingered
in the before, in the time of not
enough, in the held breath
that stayed unshared.  

Some wildness constructs
instead of destroys,
I call us untamed
and stare breathless
at all we have built.

-Tyler Knott Gregson-